Congratulations to ‘Er Indoors who correctly predicted that World Cup winning goalkeeper and England legend Gordon Banks would be next to die. He was 81.

On to Deadpool 123

Here are the rules (pay special attention to the first one):

1. Nominate who you think is the next cunt on the way out. You can have up to five choices. List your nominations in the comments of this post. It’s the current Dead Pool. Comments not in this post (e.g. in the previous one or other posts) will be ignored!

2. You win if your Cunt dies first.
Then the slate is wiped clean and we start again. Of course, you can always be a really annoying cunt and steal someone else’s dead cunt candidate from the previous pool (like Black and White Cunt frequently does).

3. It actually has to be some newsworthy cunt that people have actually heard of!

Oh, and the usual “Our Blog Our Rules” thing applies

My predictions (OpinionatedCunt):

Hillary Clinton

Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Nobby Stiles

Nancy Pelosi

Robert Mugabe

Publishing your own autobiography.

I’ve just seen an ad. for a company that sends some poor Cunt around to listen to your recollections for 12 one-hour sessions. It then takes your old photos and boring tales and writes it all up for you. Customers then receive 12 hardback copies for them to give to their family and friends…no idea how much it costs, I was so appalled that I missed that part.

Fuck me,I’m no Shrinking Violet,but even I would baulk at the idea of inflicting people with the history of my life. As for the thought of some boring old coffin-dodger giving us the story of his mediocre, dull existence in hardback form..well,I’m speechless. It’s bad enough having to listen to some pensioner banging on about Old Auntie Ethel or whatever without having to look at photos of the Auld Trout too.

This must be the ultimate in Vanity Publishing and should be strongly discouraged by beating the author around the head with his own dreadful recollections.

Get Fucked.

Nominated by Dick Fiddler

Bad cyclists deserve a nomination. Those who do the following :

Don’t wear helmet.
Don’t have lights at night, of if they do, some tiny flickering pale green thing at the front and nothing at the back.
Don’t stop at lights, junctions, zebra crossings.
Don’t signal.
Weave in and out of traffic without looking.
Cycle on pavement and expect you to make way for them. I recently told some tosser to fuck off when he told me to get out of the way (had no lights on either, twat).
Yack on mobile phone, or even worse texting.

I no longer look out for cyclists at night. If they don’t have lights and I knock them over, then fuck them. I’ll sue them for damage to the car.

Also a nomination for grown men who ride on those stupid tiny stunt bikes. Usually some twentysomething twat with a straggly beard, tattoos and a beanie, whizzing down the road whilst standing on the pedals at a crazy angle. Get a bigger bike you tossers !!

Nominated by Mystic Maven

A jolly hockey sticks Radio 4 cunting please for the oldest teenager in the business, Polly Toynbee, 72 going on 12.

She has decided Saturday (19th Jan) will be REmain day for the following specious reasons:

https://www.express.co.uk/news/uk/1073725/Brexit-news-uk-eu-latest-brexit-deal-Polly-Toynbee-twitter

Have you ever read so many shit in your life?. The silly old cunt has outdone even Owen Jones.

The childish, inept, thick as pick shit, but thinks she is oh so clever old harridan needs to be careful – at her age she might conk out on the crapper straining to evacuate the caviar in her bowles, or she might have a nasty accident with the razor when shaving her rancid old minge. She could be dead before the rest of us.

Nominated by W C Boggs

Bugger me, just saw Vanessa Redrave on’t telly. Vanessa Who? Now a white haired querulous old bat but in my day the vibrant far lefty scourge orf capitalism and all its fiendish machinations against the proletariat. Fronted that ultimate right-on up its own marxist/maoist arse vehicle The Workers Revolutionary Party – and not many laughs allowed there I can assure you. For those orf you who have read, let alone remember, me reminiscences orf encounters with the ultra left in me producing days in the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s, this is both the oifit and the lady to whom Yours Truly, orn occasion, refers.

Scion orf the theatrical Redgrave dynasty, father the AC/DC “Bunburying” Sir Michael and mother Rachel Kempson (you can look her up yourselves but had to play away due to ah..artistic differences), she was born into wealth, prestige and stardom so naturally had to bite the hand that fed her. This included naked film roles (for the statement me dears), early Feminist battles, any anti-establishment demo going plus picket lines then a long career losing her deposit as the representative orf the WRP (see above) along with brother Corin and other members of their twisted inbred faction. Needless to say have had many encounters with The Lady and count YT as one orf the rare people ever to have made her laugh. Despite her height, a gently beauty and grace possessed – even when all steamed up as she often is – the bloodline will oit. Alas all bolloxed up by the virus, nay the pox, orf political extremism.

Her fire is still alive, but only just. Sad. Excuse Yours Truly while he sheds an old man’s tear for ancient battles, blood up and no prisoners and by the look of her me final battle won – but I take no pleasure in that.
The old filly (I know she should be “old mare” but noblesse oblige) has a new self directed filum oit to promote hence her ghost popping up in places unexpected . The flic is pure Vanessa, subject the dastardly migrant camps at Callis, (we use the spelling of Shakespeare in homage to her many classic stage roles and admit to being a pretentious old cunt) capitalist exploitation orf same and entitled “Sea Sorrow”. Ah yes, all poor Blighty’s fault, not the frogs. Her daughter Joli Richardson (nice tits, dodgy nose job) is in it.

Me artistic advice: if you have a free ticket worth a peek to have your cuntishness confirmed but otherwise if you have blood pressure like Yours Truly’s, avoid like Trotsky’s arse (aha the title for me next production!).

Nominated by Sir Limply